


snafu

by Ezfa



Category: Hellsing, Hellsing Ultimate
Genre: Angry Sex, Character Study, Denial of Feelings, F/M, Fluffy Ending, Hate Sex, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Love/Hate, Mutual Non-Con, Rejuvenated Walter Dornez, Seras POV, Two Shot, dealing with hate sex, heavy shit, if you could believe that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-14 11:57:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17508176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ezfa/pseuds/Ezfa
Summary: Hate doesn’t turn into love; it just turns into more hate… right?( In which nobody ever talks about the aftermath of a hatefuck )





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> More than anything this is an experimental piece, both lore and style wise. Slight warning here though; Walter is a fucking asshole in this… there’s also some… mutual dub-con (wait… what? xD) and some serious sensitive-topic study for Seras, if you can stomach it. As a side note, I just noticed that with the exception of Quid Pro, Quo, all my SxW thus far are (or aiming to be) smutty. Don’t know how I feel about that tbh. Also, spot the references :D

**snafu**  
(I)  
_past_

**IT HAPPENED ALMOST** a little too fast. Slowly at first,  _agonizingly slow,_  then all at once. She wonders, looking back on it, if perhaps she'd subconsciously initiated it; all of it.

He was brought to them, miraculously alive; Alucard never finished the job. Something changed just before he could; Integra told him to stop, so he did. The reason? Because the  _chip_ was involved. So they held on to hope, to control, and kept him around;  _Walter C. Dornez._ Even against his will, or his seeming lack of sympathy and even reluctance. Sir Integra had a good firm grip on him and she wasn't going to let him go; if only just to have another body in the masses of Hellsing. He knew too much and killing him would be an undeserving mercy. So like a dog, he was kept on a leash, and he made his distaste clear, much to Alucard's amusement. Everyone else avoided him like the black plague; rightly so, because anyone who dared to even  _look_ his way was met with murderous-intent filled eyes, and a promise of a slow death.

He wasn't the butler anymore, obviously, but he was around enough to make her believe in the beginning that he was at least still part of the staff. Despite not wearing the attire as a butler, merely slacks and a long sleeve button up, Seras pretended that he was just having a hard time adjusting, that maybe he feels guilt gnawing on him for what he did; he's redeemable, he was  _here_ and it was okay. And after her many stares and curious gazes thus far, she wanted to offer kindness where he's been lacking. She greeted him when they cross in the hallways, just once.  _'Hi Walter!'_ she'd said, raising a hand to wave, tone genuine and hopeful, a sheepish smile.

That was her first mistake.

She was left frozen in place, nearly shaking; for the intensity of the loathe was unlike anything she'd ever seen possible on a mortal, let alone a bootleg-vampire and  _especially_ Walter. It only lasted a second, but he'd already been looking away and was across the hall when she came to. Alucard had been watching, and he manifested just to shake his head and laugh at her naivete.  _'When will you learn, Police Girl, that not everything_ _is so easily fixed_ _with a smile?_ _'_ They weren't close, not really; they shared teasing chatter, and sometimes the old butler would reminisce on something from his past, but nothing else. She tried to remember the soft look he gave her when she'd told him to take care of herself, tried to hang on to that image for just one more second… but then breaks it.

Because from that moment, Seras decided she  _hates_ Walter C. Dornez. She  _hate_ _d_  him and she doesn't give a flying damn if he hates her too, or who he used to be. He could wallow in his self-hate for what he brought on upon himself; serves him right. That's the one attribute that nearly everyone mistakes her with; she's not all smiles and kindness, because when she's  _wronged_ or treated piss-poorly, Seras Victoria can be quite nasty in turn.

After that, she held her chin just a little higher around him. Her jaw would clench but she didn't look away if she needed to look his particular way. She'd practice her stoic face in the mirror, and nod in satisfaction when she got better at controlling the muscles on her face. At that point, Seras was still  _Seras_ ; just with the exception of a bloody goat in the manor. Whatever; she wasn't going to let that get her down. His misery didn't need to bleed to her. For the most part, she was able to cope just fine; missions went well, she still socialized with Hellsing's soldiers and staff, and she'd still drink her blood bags in the comfort of her own room.

The second mistake came not too long after; she had to bring her  _Harkonnen_ to Walter for maintenance after a shoddy performance during a rather messy mission. She had basic maintenance knowledge for her regular handguns as a police officer but not for a bloody anti-talk rifle. Wordlessly, she placed it on the table one night; whether he'd ignored her when she came in or just noticed, she didn't care. Curiously, he'd given a little jump and tensed, almost as if he were nervous; must have been because he'd been so focused on taking a firearm apart. She was a little rude, just placing it like that, but she couldn't find it within herself to spare sympathy.

He glared at her and she scooted the rifle closer. "It needs some cleaning, and some maintenance." she said, and she was already out the door for the last bit, "Or I could report to Sir Integra; I don't think she wants any sloppy work." She'd felt his eyes burning the back of her skull, but she smiled regardless, finding that she liked holding things over his head because he couldn't do jack shit otherwise. Her fine hearing indicated to her he'd thrown the gun he was working on right at the door as she closed it. She allowed herself to feel a little guilty, and so when she came to the weapon's lab back a few hours later, she apologized and murmured an honest  _'thank you'_ as she starts to take her rifle.

He gripped her wrist and though he was weak in comparison to her, even she can acknowledge the strength behind such a hold; if she were mortal, he'd have shattered it. "You're  _beneath_ me. Do  _not_ address me as such..." It sounded like he'd say more and she anticipates it, but then his mouth thinned as if changing his mind.

A coldness crept up her spine, and despite the fact that it  _stung_ , it angered her more. He hadn't let go, and waited. There's a hundred and one things she could have said to him and rightly so. His hold had become tighter and her eyes were drawn to the light bruising of her skin. She wanted to break his hand, and she almost did, but stopped herself when she thought of Sir Integra; instead, she rammed her foot to his stomach. It was a swift and precise movement; it would have killed him if he were mere human, but instead he just slid a good distance, heels skidding.

"And  _you_ don't get to bark orders, traitor.  _Do not_ touch me. Next time I won't be so bloody  _nice."_ He said nothing amid the humiliation and hot anger, but the eyes burn in wretchedness; he didn't have the stomach to look at her. The violent heart of hers pounded into her skull; she pretended not to feel Alucard's smirk from beyond the shadows.

After that, there was more hostility in the air than ever; more than when Integra or even Alucard had faced off against their respective foes. Surprisingly, when you can't stand the sight of someone, you end up seeing them  _everywhere._ They ran into each other more, somehow, despite both of their attempts  _not_ to; she would argue that he'd approached her on purpose, and he'd argue that she was just a pain in the ass. It was only funny if you were Alucard, and annoying if you were Integra; for anyone else, whenever the two were in a room, it was no different than a lion and a tiger just waiting for the other to go for the jugular. Now this time, whenever they had to cross paths, it was a death match; in retrospect, Seras thought it was the funniest thing to have ever happened between her, Alucard's former fledgling, former police girl and Draculina and him, Hellsing's former loyal butler, former master vampire hunter and treasonous traitor.

_The old dog and the new girl; let the two of us make a perfect pair._

She only found it funny because it hurt. Weeks passed until Seras began to tire of the whole thing; she kept it up though, because seeing him was like a trigger. She couldn't  _stand_ it; before, perhaps, but after treating her like a nuisance and not even having the decency to just…  _not_ be so hostile, it left her bloodstream boiling.

One night, she'd been wandering the manor.

She had been wanting to restock her blood bag supply for her small pantry, and on her way back she'd wandered into one of Hellsing's various libraries; part of her new she wasn't supposed to, but as always, curiosity always got the better of her. She'd been fingering the spines and grabbed one at random; to her surprise, there were old photographs, black and white and everything. Making sure to take deliberate care, she only barely touched the pages. Her eyes had landed on a boy, around fifteen, looking haughty. Her eyes narrowed in slight interest, and kept flipping through the pages.

She'd see the boy again and again, smirking or even pouting, but almost always with the formal attire. He was growing older, more mature, until her breath nearly escaped her lungs at another photograph; the boy had grown into Walter. Still with same clothes, more or less, and near identical in face and expression as the butler she came to know… well, with the exception as he was now, to the one she's grown to hate. Her heart sank;  _so, this indeed_ ** _is_** _Walter._ But there was a difference; his expression was more…  _youthful_ somehow. Probably because he was  _genuinely_ young and not artificially rejuvenated. He looked just a little bit thinner, and his eyes were darker; even his hair looked different  _somehow._ Despite her own conscious thoughts, her thumb and pointer fingered the face of the image; she was struck with such bafflement and confusion and  _bewilderment._

At that point… did he  _know_ he was going to betray Hellsing? How long had he been planning this? She gulped, as if an invisible hand seizing her heart. She looked at the photo, as if Walter from the past would answer. Perhaps he'd always been this way, if he'd plan on betraying Hellsing for bloody sixty years. She scoffed, shook her head and slammed the photo album, suddenly feeling a wave of disgust for the audacity of this man; betraying everything just to… what? Prove something? She tiptoed to put the book back, suddenly very tired. She breathed out a laugh, a thought coming to her. "Huh, maybe he just had a hard on for Alucard this whole time. That would certainly put everything into perspective—"

" _What are you doing?"_ A shadow loomed over her though, and because she'd been so distracted she had only realized it until it was far too late. Seras had all but flinched, body near spasming backwards and colliding with a sturdy chest; the album fell with a loud  _thunk!_  Hands firmly gripped her elbows, but she already knew who it was just from that voice alone. Her jaw slowly clenched, and they stood in silence.

"If you think that I'm going to allow you to lay so much as  _another finger on me_ —" the words didn't make much sense, and she  _mean_ _t_ to say that he'd better not get any further ideas. He only gripped tighter, but she stayed put just out of morbid curiosity.

"What were you  _doing?"_ he repeated, this time practically hissing at. No different than possibly a parent scolding their child; it grated on her nerves but what got her more pissed was the fact that he thought he was threatening.

"You see the bloody album, don't you? I was just  _looking,"_ she jut her chin out, and then sucked her teeth, "Though, I have to say; based on the pictures, you've always been a real piece of work, eh, Walter? Just how  _long_ have you been pining over my master?" She let him spin her and shove her back until she hit the shelf, though surprisingly without much venom, but her hardened eyes glowed amused and her smirk was biting, trying not to laugh despite this wretched man. He was breathing fiercely through his nostrils and she could tell by his clenched fists he wanted to fight. And for some reason, Seras thought that served him bloody well; so she kept throwing wood at the fire. Maybe he would realize how stupid he truly acted. "Tell me something, Dornez; was it love at first sight, or was it a  _slow_ obsession?"

This was unlike her. She was being very rude and inconsiderate. She  _knew_ this; but she also knew that she was never  _truly_ the same after being bitten. In the back of her mind, she was absolutely confused to her sudden obsession with throwing Alucard into this. Part of it was morbid curiosity, and the other just really liked seeing Walter so frazzled like this; all because of a few words. She bent down to pick up the album, dusting it off and checking for any dents. Looking for the particular spot, she busied herself as if truly caring if the book was in the right place. "Perhaps you were mad you missed your chance? You got old, probably couldn't get it up anymore, eh?"

Despite it all, it became clear to her she was just trying to distract  _herself_ ; her own hands clench, suddenly very upset and she suddenly dropped her charade. She pivoted to him, finger in the air, eyes crimson as her very blood. "What the  _bloody hell did you go and_ ** _screw_** _everything up_ _for_ _?!_ You were  _good_  and you did the right thing! You  _helped_ and you just threw it all away, and for what?! Because you were  _pining_  over a damn vampire? Because you were afraid of getting old? Because you didn't want to become  _obsolete?!_ _What kind of logic is that, anyway?_ _Pretty bloody_ _contradictory_ _to become a vampire for two seconds just so you can fight, only to_ ** _die_** _after!"_ She didn't push him and she didn't get any closer, but each sentence became louder and more confused than the last, her shadow arm responded in kind, growing in size and oozing sharp edges. It didn't take her long to realize that blood tears were running down her cheeks. She wiped them away harshly, no doubt staining the carpeted floors. "You're absolutely  _nasty_  and I regret ever having even  _fighting_ along your side  _Walter C. Dornez_!"

She'd hoped it was enough to get him to  _think_ ; that maybe, just  _maybe,_ it would make him apologize.

And then he had the audacity to smirk; it was twisted and full of spite and  _so_ _wrong_.

He licked his lips looked at her like she was an insect, like he could crush her under the heel of his boot at any moment  _and that is_ ** _not_** _what she wanted to happen_. "That's a lot of talk, Seras Victoria. But you know," she couldn't point exactly when he'd started lighting a stupid cigar, or when he'd taken a couple of steps forward  _and why she'd let him,_ or even when he brought his face so near hers, "With all your talk on obsession, I'd say you're not far from the path yourself," she hadn't understood that in the least, and she only came to when she realized he'd started twirling a strand of blonde hair between nimble fingers. He blew smoke in her face, just lightly so; she wanted to flinch in disgust, but she didn't want to show any weakness, " _Tell me something_ , Seras," he mocked her own words, "When did  _yours_  start? Was it when I showed all of you my new form in the streets of London? Or was it when I told you to take care of yourself? Perhaps it was even  _before_  my special surgery…?" he'd leaned closer to the shell of her ear to whisper directly, "Maybe you fancy old men who, as you said,  _can't get it up..._ "

He barely dodged out of the giant shadow hand as it slammed and utterly destroyed the shelves on the opposite side of the room. That wasn't just a random  _get off me_  gesture; that'd been a  _I'm going to murder you_ gesture. She'd penetrated the wall deeply, embedding herself; she turned to him, arm obscuring the lower half of her face. Her eyes were utter slits, glowing a bright and violent red amidst the darkness of the night within the manor. She bared her teeth, and Walter's smirk grew. Their eyes didn't waver, not when Seras adjusted herself, and not when Walter snubbed the cigar under his shoe. After a moment, she lunged, momentarily forgetting her person. His wires, though just regular thread as opposed to his usual regular ones, were already in position, interlacing between his fingers. He underestimated her a little though, because even though the wires had been maneuvered in a way to get her by the ankles, she'd already jumped high onto the air. The rest became a blur; they ended up out onto the hallways. She was covered in scratches from the wire, and his hair was near undone, face bleeding and bruised. But she hadn't  _wiped_ the smirk from his stupid face yet, and so she'd been all but determined to make the man cry.

The stood across each other, both having held pretty well despite everything. She lunged again,  _so intent_ with killing him; not even instantly, but wanting to  _mauling_ him. There were no words needed to be exchanged, she didn't  _want_ to exchange any words. So was it a surprise then, that he'd managed to get wires across her neck? Looking back, she decided it wasn't. Her eyes widened in surprise and she barely managed to see the quirk of his lips before she is pulled up along with her body. The near thinness of the wire made it seem like she was floating, and she realized he was doing it deliberately.

And then the bastard pulled his little finger.

Seras gasped and choked on a scream as the wire begun to dig further into her skin. Blood tears started to leak out in the corners of her eyes. She hadn't bothered to call for help or ask him to  _stop;_ she was not afraid of death, not after going through it once already. The only think keeping her alive and not choke her any further was the shadow tendril that served as her limb. It managed to seep through the loop of wire circling her neck just a moment before he pulled, and it held the thread from the neck just so she could breathe a little, even if she'd been sputtering.

She was  _scared._

But not of death, not of him, not of Walter himself; but scared that he was doing it to begin with. It was a strange thing to piece in her mind, because she  _wasn't_ scared of  _him_ , not the man himself. Hell, she gave him a run for his money. But just the fact that he  _would_ ; that, apparently, she was just another stupid body to knock out, and it was  _stupid of her to think that she_ ** _wasn't_** _because she's only known the man for a year at most_ _so_ ** _why—?_** "W-Walter..." she finally sputtered and she  _hated_ herself right then because it looked like she was begging; she wasn't  _asking_ for help, she wanted to swear at him.

Abruptly, she was dropped to the ground, wires were dispersed everywhere, cut in half. It was Alucard who interfered.

"My, my; you two start a party like this, and  _don't_ invite me?" if her bleeding throat wasn't so sore, she would have told her former master to  _fuck off_ , but he turned to her, uncaring if she'd just collapsed and indifferent to her coughing, and although a smile was there, his eyes tell a different story. "I'm disappointed in your performance, Police girl,"  _—oh, we're back to that?_ "Dignified Draculinas don't just lunge in battle with unbridled rage; you're supposed to have more tact than that, to be above such primitive impulses," and  _damnit she_ _ **hated**_ _it when he did that because she would forget how much_ _ **experience**_ _he has and—_ "On top of that, you actually  _let_ yourself be caught by such a foolish trap." She almost reminded him of  _his_ battle with Walter, but she thought about it and had a sharp tug in her chest that made her believe he wasn't referring to the threads.

Like a scolded student and without another word, she left to walk the path shame, tail between her legs. She didn't strain her hearing to decipher what he'd said to Walter; she wasn't  _interested_  in the words those two exchanged, and she wasn't exactly confident in Alucard vouching for her. Nevertheless, she picked up a few things:  _You damn old dog; preying on a fresh little Draculina now?_ and  _Who knew that's what it takes for you to get off._ She spit blood in anger.

The consequences of her temper tantrum caught up to her when she arrived to her bedroom. Her heart wouldn't stop beating and she blamed it on the adrenaline of battle; her anxiousness about what Sir Integra would do when she found out about the destruction of the small library; the anger seeping through for him. She'd punched the mirror in her bathroom and was not in the mood to feed. She was frustrated and upset and  _so angry_ — and she also acknowledged that this was  _her_ fault. She'd goaded him, she could have just walked away. Even when she tried to comfort herself, telling herself that  _he_ started it by grabbing her in the first place, it did nothing to squelch her guilt. Her heart wouldn't stop thundering against her chest. She shakily fingered the sharp and fresh scratches against her throat, tears oozing in her eyes and—

— _and she tried so desperately to ignore the welling heat growing between her thighs._

Her eyes had widened in realization, confusion and disgust; that night, she ended up destroying her coffin by throwing it against the wall, smashing into pieces, and so slept in the corner of her room, hunched over. The morning after, when Sir Integra summoned her about the incident,  _and the coffin,_ Seras only murmured  _Walter_ through clenched teeth and tightened fists, much to her curiosity and Alucard's entertainment.

Sir Integra didn't question her further on the matter, but she made is absolutely clear what she expected from her,  _from the both of them._

"I will  _not_ have another repeat of this incident; do I make myself clear? I don't damn well  _care_ who started it or who finished it; my  _house_ is not your battle ground and I shouldn't even talking to each of you two about this like children. You're a vampire and a capable one, but you are to stop  _antagonizing_ Walter," she hisses out, "Because whether you like it or not, he is still very much part of this organization; he's a traitorous bastard and a damn good one, but we have use for him. And we  _do not_ attack our own, am I understood?" Seras shakily swallowed her pride through ground teeth. Her eyebrows twitched and she remained silent, wanting to punch a window or a wall or  _something._ Integra abruptly stood right then, slamming her hands against the desk and narrowing her eyes dangerously at Police Girl, " _Seras Victoria, have I made myself_ _ **clear?**_ _"_

"Yes, Sir Integra." She felt like she surrendered something in those words, but she wasn't sure what, "I understand your orders." Coincidentally, she ran into him once more just as she left the office, both coming from opposite paths, no doubt he too was summoned for questioning; she didn't bother looking at him and just barely angled herself so that she wouldn't even brush shoulders with him. Whether he noticed, or cared, was not in her interest.

A couple more weeks passed after that; the hostility was still there, but she made an active effort to subdue it, if only for her Master's sake and for herself, for her own sanity.

His words rang into mind, though; ' _You as well.'_

Did he truly mean that at the time? Why had he brought it up, thrown it back to her face?

' _When did_ _yours start?'_

She would shake her head when those thoughts crept in, wanting nothing else than to banish them; so, trying to be an  _adult,_ she busied herself in any way she could and made an active effort to not run into him. Whenever she did see him, she would squelch the anger shooting up through her spine and avoid glaring. It took practice and  _much_ patience, but eventually, Seras would carry on as if she wasn't in presence of a former friend and traitor. She doubted he even cared; she was reluctant to admit, but he was  _right_ to some degree. She was being too personal with him; why the fixation? Once she asked herself that, everything else was easier to adjust. Out of sight, out of mind.

But then on another night,  _the fateful one,_ at an unholy hour, at an unholy  _place,_ everything changed. On the night of her birthday no less.

She'd been, for what seemed to be in a  _long_ time, absolutely happy that Saturday morning. Even as a human, she'd have a hard time to really enjoy herself; she'd always busy herself with her job, and if it wasn't that, it was just sitting at home watching the telly. That was all her life had amounted to, and when she was officially turned into part of the undead, it was missions left and right, blowing things up or killing ghouls. It was always intense and messy, but it was fine because it added excitement to her life. She'd woken up, however, feeling so refreshed and animated; perhaps it was because the weather was  _just_ beautiful, even though she couldn't fully appreciate it in the flesh it didn't mean she hated sunny days. After all, those were the ones she missed the most; perhaps it was because she'd been entrusted with the training of new recruits, and her efforts as supervisor and overseer were acknowledged; perhaps it was because a certain soldier, who was pretty cute, would give her  _gazes_ and looks. It made her feel  _normal,_ human, even, and she reminded herself that she indeed was still in her youth. Perhaps it was because Sir Integra may or may not have mostly given her birthday weekend off; still on call though.

And perhaps it was also because she stopped tainting herself with the poison that was  _The Angel of Death_. But she didn't actively dwell on that fact; it was just  _there,_ and that was enough.

She awoke from her coffin with a smile, and she made her way down the hall to the kitchen dancing to a new single from a particular American boy band she fancied on her CD player;  _I never want to hear you say,_ she repeated the lyrics in her head, and hummed the tune out loud,  _I want it that way._ She poured herself a cup of Earl Grey; her stomach flipped as the taste, but she  _likes_ tea so she adds drops of blood to make it less harmful. She may have had spotted Walter in the corner of her eye along with the other staff; she almost wanted to turn to look because she  _felt_ his stare, but she doesn't let her mood dampen, so she went on as if she didn't see a damn thing. She gave high fives to all the soldiers when she passed by the training grounds. She even greeted Sir Integra and Alucard with a sing song voice.

She'd begged for her birthday night off; nearly went on her knees to ask Sir Integra if she could go to a pub slash club merely fifteen minutes away. The woman was still as stone, but Seras could see in her eyes that she was conceding. After following her around for nearly a whole hour repeating  _please_ and ' _it's my_ _ **birthday,**_ _I'm going to be_ _ **twenty'**_ with her best pout and pair of puppy eyes, Integra snapped, fingers rubbing her temple.

" _Enough_ Seras!"

"... _please_."

" _Alright!_ Bloody hell.  _Just for tonight_." Seras hadn't even jumped yet before her master pointed her finger, " _But_ , there's going to be some  _rules_ , and I expect them to be followed  _thoroughly._ Do  _not_ bring anyone here. Do  _not_ utterly  _smashed_ beyond repair. You  _will_ be back by a curfew; I want you resting here. Stay  _away_ from the pubs further along the edge of the city. Absolutely  _no_ drugs; your vampire body may be equipped for the worst, but I will not have so much as a  _wiff_ of any of that rubbish in this manor. Hellsing needs to stay in top condition; that  _includes_ you. You  _will_ report if paged.  _No casulties._   _Am I understood?_ " Seras was just happy and touched that for once in a very long time, someone was speaking to her almost like a real parental figure would. "I also  _will_ have you tracked in case you run into anything; but you're not a child, so I don't expect nor desire to be doting you." She considered it a miracle that Integra didn't stab her when she held her in an embrace for about two seconds. It was the small things.

Seras came out practically twirling from the office, and as consequence, she bumped into  _him_ again, genuinely by accident. She had stiffened for a second, but shrugged and continued on, uncaring if he was upset or not. As she walked away, she pretended not to feel his gaze burning into her skull, and focused on deciding what to wear for the night.

That was the prelude to the catalyst.

That night, the bar was  _crowded_ ; it smelled of sweat, some sex and too many drinks. She loved it. Her body was now more equipped and stronger; getting drunk was not easy for her as it might have been, but it wasn't her intention to begin with. At most she got  _slightly_ buzzed, but she was a normal young woman tonight, so she danced with a little more sway and lolled her head to the side just to feel like part of the crowd, just for a little bit. She even met up with friends she hadn't seen since primary school; there were familiar faces, faces she didn't know, faces that annoyed her, and some that fancied her. She was idly sipping her margarita, twirling the minuscule umbrella and swaying softly to the music, and then would dance; rinse and repeat, rinse and repeat. She kept checking her wrist watch and thanked heavens it was only 12 in the morning. The night, or rather morning, had  _just_ started.

Eventually, she became vaguely aware about a boy— no, a man. He was quite the looker; not too old, and definitely not too young. Eventually, they get chatty; one thing lead to another, a hand on her thigh, a giggle at a lame joke, a rub in the shoulder, a bite of the lips. Things began to get blurry, and before she knew it, they were outside just up in the alley; his hand was still on her thigh, and their pressed together. She wasn't as drunk as he thought she was, but she liked the motions of it; she liked being giggly and amorous, more so because she has the brawl to back it up if things became awry. She was invincible. He kissed her, sloppy and stinking like pure vodka and bloody mary. She was a virgin, but not a prude; she got handy too, enjoying it and pretending that, just for once, she was human again.

"You know," she says, between the light moans and the sloppy, buzzed necking, "I shouldn't say this, but I'm actually a vampire." The bloke was so utterly average and forgetful and  _normal_ that she couldn't even bother to really look at his face when it wasn't buried in her tits. He may as well have not existed, if only for the sake of her delusion. She meant that in a nice way, of course.

 _Michael McDoesn'tExist_ marginally tried to move his head, but Seras only gripped his hair and dug him to her chest again. "Are you really?" his speech was muffled,  _happily so,_ but it was very clear by the laugh that he didn't believe her.

She smirked, "Mmhmm, you bet," her mouth angled to his very  _delicious_ neck, licking the shell of his ear, feeling empowered and unstoppable, "Wanna see me bite? You look plenty tasty," she hoped that sounded sexy.

He laughed, and for just one second, she almost does, her fangs were ready and dripping with saliva.  _No casualties,_ Integra's voice rang loud and true in her mind, and she thought that perhaps, she wasn't  _as_ sober as she thought she was. She had enough sense to stop, blink, count to three, and slowly back her head away.  _Integra,_ she suddenly thought, and her pupils slit in panic.  _Oh bloody— what time is it?!_ She tried asking the guy, but he was busy doing other things,  _wonderful and funny things,_ to her neck and shoulders. When that hadn't worked, she tried to smack him half-heartedly, already getting lost in the bliss of first time dry sex against an alley wall.  _Ah, it probably isn't that late anyway._ She closed her eyes, and was letting herself be ravished, even with the flimsy dress on. But no more than two seconds passed, and the comfortable and warm weight was torn off of her. She hadn't caught it in her bliss. When she turned in her bewilderment at the loss, her heart dropped in the pit of her stomach, and horrible, ugly reality was dumped on her like a bucket of ice.

_Walter._

He had the man, —no,  _boy,_ she realized;  _especially_ when he was being held like  _that_ by  _him—_ "Leave.  _Now."_ Only two words, but they held such threatening promise that  _Michael_ immediately does so, stumbling away.

His gaze then snapped to her, and she felt a little exposed being caught like this, and just a  _little embarrassed_  and flustered. All this was replaced with sheathing white anger, and it threatened to breathe fire the moment she opened her mouth. "What the  _bloody_ —"

"You're passed curfew," he said, voice tight and peculiar. She didn't give a damn; she didn't even care about Sir Integra in that moment, because her  _trouble_ was no business of his. And as if he read her mind, "Sir Integra has asked me to look after you."

She was stilled, the familiar words that were exchanged when they were fist acquainted. "I don't believe you," she spat out while adjusting the stupid straps of her sparkly purple dress. She couldn't stand the look she was being given, like he was  _disappointed_ in her. Like he had  _any_ right to be, like he was the  _retainer_ of the Hellsing family all over again. His eyes raised skyward, just slight before her turned away. She didn't know why that bothered her.

"Believe or don't believe what you want. Regardless, you're coming to Hellsing. Sir Integra and Alucard are out on a special mission for tonight and tomorrow."

"I'm  _not_ going with you." He pulled out a cell phone,  _flipping_ it open in a beat; he was  _threatening_ to rat her out as if she was a  _child._ "I don't  _care_ ; call her. She knows me well, she wouldn't have  _dared_ to put me under  _your_ bloody care." Something in those words had bothered him because he looked up then, with that same peculiar, if slightly annoyed, gaze. She began walking away, finding her stilettos more annoying than ever. "Fuck this, I'd rather just have her yell at me."

Except, not really; they both knew this, and it was only a matter of minutes before she was walking behind him and into the car. The ride to the manor was silent. But there was tension too, and she felt like pouting. Wordlessly, she tried to slink back to her bedroom, stilettos in hand and her jacket over her shoulders. Right at the door of her daytime bedroom  _—because she definitely wanted a bed for tonight—_  he surprised her, albeit, unpleasantly. "So then, was that the goal for tonight?"

She knitted her brows in confusion, trying to piece together that question. "I… beg your pardon?"

"Sex," he said, and somewhere in the back of her mind she could  _appreciate_ this person; if had been anyone else at all, maybe…  _just maybe—_ he lit a cigarello, and leaned against the adjacent wall across her door in the small passage way. Curiously enough, she noticed he looked exhausted. Drained. "Was sex the main objective?"

His question was so out of place and awkward that he insulted her by at least not looking sheepish. She scrunched her nose and gave a shrug, "What's it to you? The goal was to enjoy myself on my bloody birthday." What business did he have asking her that, anyway? She would have to speak to Sir Integra in the morning; this was nonsense. She tried to turn away, but his incredulous scoff offended her, and feeling rather childish that night, she pivoted back to him. "Is there a  _problem?_ "

He took another drag, still smirking just ever so. "Nothing really; I just find it rather amusing. You're a vampire; it just made me think how you're trying to take advantage of the time you have left in genuine youth before experiencing true undead life."

The next bit came out almost automatically, "Yes, well, what with your  _wonderful_ example, I realized  _why not_ take advantage?" his slight scowl pleased her, "Besides, in my case especially, I am to  _remain_ in my true, unbridled youth for as long as I remain alive. It must be  _dreadful_ to only be a fraction of what you were then; even with the amazing  _Nazi_ science, you  _still_ manage to look so  _broken_."

The conversation clearly hadn't gone to the direction he wanted; he nearly crushed the cigarello in his hold. "What is your _problem_?" he hissed, "What's the fixation? What's with the  _obsession_ you have?"

She was so baffled, so utterly in disbelief, that she couldn't help give him all her attention. "My problem?  _My_ problem?  _Obsession?_ What the—? You're bloody  _delusional_ , utterly  _incorrigible!_ How dare you even  _insinuate_ such nonsense!"

"You've been  _nothing_ but utterly  _expectant_  of me ever since I came here."

"I tried to be  _nice_ to you the first time we crossed paths, Walter; you looked like you wanted to bloody  _murder_ me on the spot for even saying 'hi' to you! You bloody  _choked_ me with your stupid wires!"

To her surprise, he agreed. "Yes, I did glare at you! You wouldn't exactly be on board with an organization taking you back against your bloody will  _in addition_ to everyone ostracizing you! Pardon my lack of fucking manners! And  _excuse_ me from defending myself!"

"Do not—! Are you—? You  _betrayed_ us! You  _betrayed Hellsing!_ Because of a stupid vendetta! Because of a  _child squabble_ that you couldn't let go of!  _And you started it!_ " she wanted to tear her hair out, "You cannot possibly stand by your decision. Surely you've realized that already!" When she saw a muscle in his jaw tick, she was done and rolled her eyes, "All right then,  _whatever_ ; I don't really care much, not anymore. Good bloody ni—" she didn't get the chance to go inside because he was gripping her wrist, nearly hovering. "Let me go.  _Now._ Before I  _break_ it. _"_

"Then there was  _you_ ," he spat, ignoring her demand and threat. "You  _tried_ to fool yourself into thinking you didn't  _care._ But  _everyone_ knows you; even your damn master picked up on it. You were desperate for some justification for my actions, didn't you? You just  _refused_ to accept that  _this_ is who I am, who I  _really_ am. You became engrossed; you wanted… you  _thought_ you could  _fix,_ " he hissed the word like it was poison, "...me."

She wanted to punch him for that; she hated the stigma of women that had to  _fix_ things, fix people. That wasn't her  _job._ She hated that he was accusing her of it. And what she hated most of all was that he wasn't wrong; it was why she was so  _angry_ after their fight. Her heart beat in her chest in that moment; when he'd put up his defenses, when he'd  _resisted_ her attempt at kindness, she became bitter. Like a toy was taken away; she thought about that night. She thought about those taunts she'd given him; she'd wanted a reason for his betrayal,  _anything_ to go off of so she could compartmentalize him and figure something out, anything to bring back the old Walter. She wanted Hellsing's Walter  _back_ ; not some shoddy copy.

She wondered, in that moment, if she'd always been this transparent.

"And then you ignored me," now he sounded like the child, and she realized that she wasn't the only transparent one. "You pretended I wasn't affecting you." He was annoyed at her, sure and it was most likely true he still hated Alucard and would betray Hellsing in a heartbeat if only to get another shot. But he was human too, mostly. He still had complex feelings and emotions; even if he did plan the organization for sixty years, he still made friendships and grew relationships. Sir Integra was like a daughter to him, and the responsibility of the house always befell on him. He still  _cared_ despite whatever front he put on and he never wanted to be cast aside. So to deal with that on a constant basis, treated like a dog; not even having the option to control his own life because it was held with a bloody remote, was torture for him.

She understood, but she had little sympathy, "Yes I did because you didn't  _deserve_ my attention." His mouth had set into a fine line, "You made your choice, and I wasn't going to be drained because of it. I wanted the old Walter… the  _real_ one. The one whom would teach me about classical music and tell me of his missions from his glory days and bloody  _scolded_ for me sass. The one who was  _loyal_ to Hellsing and wasn't damn  _stupid._ "

"This," he jerked her hand to his chest, and perhaps it was the buzz, but she saw something  _like_ hurt in his eyes, "... _is_ the real Walter.  _Me._ And yes,  _I want revenge_ from that bloody master of yours. I don't regret my choices; I would do it again a thousand times over if that's what it would take."

" _So then what are you trying to argue Walter?!"_ she didn't understand. "What are you  _demanding_ from me, right now?  _What do you want?"_ And it was in that moment, from the unsure flicker of his and loosened grip, that he didn't exactly know. But then again, what did  _she_ want from him, anyway? Somewhat appalled that they had more in common than she realized  _—they wanted attention, familiarity, a semblance of what things used to be—_ she yanked her hand, "Then perhaps I never knew what I wanted, because obviously it doesn't  _exist;_ only the disappointment does.. _._ "

And that was the catalyst.

Because not even one breath after that, she found herself roughly pushed inside the room, and she punched him for even touching her; to her surprise, he didn't hit her back, but rather wrestled, almost like he wanted to just have a semblance of dominance over her and she wasn't in the mood. She kicked him, had hurled her stilettos and clutch and whatever she could find in the room and slammed him against the door; and then her hands were caught in wire, wrapped tight enough to draw blood, so she headbutted him. It was  _almost_ like they were young children, like two little boys just tumbling and wrestling; she didn't understand his objective, but she didn't want to, she just wanted him out. But the wires were the problem, she demanded to be released and  _fast_ because  _damn it_ if a similar incident like last time was going to happen, with  _him_ in here. But she quickly noticed he  _liked_ having that over her head, and soon fangs were out, so he tightened them. But refusing to be humiliated, she sacrificed the pain for escape; her shadow arm ripped the wires though he drew blood on her other arm. She managed to get a bat from under the mattress and  _promised_ she would have his brain matter decorating her walls; she tried, but he dodged. It was a stupid fight; not at all life threatening, but it burned off the energy, the anger, the frustration off somehow. She stood with wobbly knees and a ripped strap of her dress; she had murder in her eyes and so did he. They weren't  _normal,_ not anymore; they didn't scream in rage or curse, they were on a mission to subdue the other one.

They were equals.

That realization pushed her anger and desperation to the edge, and she aimed to literally  _push_ him out of her bedroom; he was no match for her strength, so she was confident in tackling him like a beast. That's where it transitioned, because the bastard  _somehow_ moved last minute, avoided the shadow tendril like the snake he was and had her in a hold that  _she_ showed him once. But she was tired and cranky and  _what is this fight anyway_ — and… then it became a different kind of fight. Because her dress was shot and flimsy, because her milky thighs were pressed near his crotch, because they were both flushed and frustrated and most of all because the aggressive,  _fight_ pawing became more desperate.

That's where they fell.

There was twisting and turning, gripping and shoving, clawing and scratching. Half of her mind had been on fight mode and the other was still in needy haze back in the alley. She told him to  _get off_ , but that meant so little when she moaned it and pushed his hips to hers. Their clothes didn't even come off all the way, just enough for the essentials, and there were no kisses; they were disheveled and askew and sweaty. She would have termed it 'rape' if not for the fact she was slamming her hips violently against his, clawing into his back and drawing blood from his shoulder with her teeth. She was trembling and so was he; both from desire and the raw violent fucking. When she gave him a bite large enough to literally  _chew_ _off_ a piece of flesh, he pulled her hair from the roots. When he tried to keep her still with wires, she gripped his neck. They did it on the floor and then the wall. Their moans weren't sweet or signs of satisfaction; they were groans of frustrations and anger.

When it was all over, they pushed away from each other, still childishly upset, and didn't spare a glance. Walter left almost  _limping,_ his white button up stained with red, with bruises on his neck and face. Seras went to bed with tattered cloth that used to be a dress, wire scratches on her legs and arms, and bite marks. It was messy, it was violent and it was awful because both parties from such an activity were supposed to be sated and filled. When they parted ways, they were bruised and bleeding, horribly lacking and literally half dead.

First times are supposed to be magical, fulfilling and romantic. So when she woke up the morning after, body sore and aching, she cried.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the longer wait time and short chapter; I'm starting to feel a little drained with some irl things. This was meant to be the last chapter and I would have completed it, but I think I made people wait long enough...

**snafu  
** **(II)  
** _present_

**SHE NEEDS TO**  take a shower, to take off this stupid dress and  _move._ But she can't find the energy within herself to even tear her gaze from the ceiling, let alone move any of her limbs. Though the physical injuries heal quickly, the mental ones do not; she replays the night over and over, tries to pinpoint the moment they both lost their minds. No matter how many scenes replay in her head, she can't seize the moment.  _How?_ How did an argument escalate into  _that?_ Their interactions had all been so negative, violent and ugly; had there been  _sexual tension_ among all that? It all seems so distant and far away, like it was just a bad dream; the scratches on her shoulders and thighs prove otherwise. That… that couldn't have been  _normal_ ; she hadn't even gotten  _relief_ , at least not mentally, not emotionally; the physical part just stung, if anything. When it'd all been said and done, she'd felt like she got out of a fight for her life. There was no unbridled  _passion_ ; they literally tried to  _kill_ each other. She nearly  _bit_ off a chunk of his flesh like a ghoul! Is she truly such an uncontrollable beast that she can't even… have  _sex_ like a  _normal_ _person_ _?_

She  _hated_ it. It didn't leave her sated or blissful; she'd been left aching, hurting and angered.  _We didn't even kiss._ Her hands run over her face, wanting to wipe away the old, dry tears and the new, fresh ones welling up in her eyes. She's ashamed, horrified and upset; she's a monster. "But then," she croaks, throat hurting from the arguing and screaming from last night, "… so is he." She waits for the hate at him to surge through. It never does, and that just makes her even more angry. How  _easy_ it would be to think that she'd been raped, that she was forced or held against her will, or that the heated argument led to something  _passionate_ and  _enjoyable,_ at the very least. Neither were true,  _God,_ she thinks, the weight of the situation crushing her,  _With_ ** _Walter_** _of all people._ She feels she ought to be horrified when the images of an elderly, kind and even battle-loving Walter pop in her head, during his time as Hellsing's retainer; she never does… She feels longing, instead.

Eventually, she rises; she has to get her act together. She has to.

When she bathes, she pretends it's enough to wash off all the dirt and grime and  _sex —if it could even be called that—_ it isn't, and she feels drained. The walk through the halls is a dreadful one, but she's mostly too numb  _—guilt_ _y_ _,_ _a_ _shame_ _d_ _, mortifi_ _ed_ _, longing, ang_ _ry_ _, melanchol_ _ous_ _—_ she wants to forget. Vaguely, she is aware that… well, Walter is in the manor too; she doesn't want to see him, and the dread from that possibility makes her come to, just a little bit. After her bath, she dresses quickly for the day, and goes out in the hallway.

She walks a little faster to Integra's office. Seras gains a painfully acute awareness; trying to maintain her composure, she blocks everything out. She's an adult, not a child; she doesn't run from her mistakes.  _Hellsing doesn't run from its' enemies._ When she arrives into Integra's office, she almost asks her why she's in the manor;  _Walter said—_ except asking would elicit her spilling out Walter's name, and suddenly, she doesn't care about why Integra and Alucard are back, or what their mission was. Alucard always minds her with  _that_ gaze, as if he knows something that even  _she_ doesn't know. Integra picks something is off, but doesn't pick or prod.

"How was your birthday, Seras? Did you have fun? Seras would have gushed in moments like these; especially when Integra was speaking to her as a parent would, in her own, strange and stoic way. Integra peers at her with a stone face. Her tone was soft and if one squinted, perhaps even concerned.

But Seras does not feel relief or touched at her Integra's inquiries; she only feels… neurotic. Her lips are licked, though it does not get rid of the dryness or monstrous palpitating of her heart. "It was… I mean—" She hears a whisper of cloth, and Integra's brow is raised just an inch. Seras gulps, and she sighs, just barely. "It was… a birthday unlike any other I've had," tears well up in her eyes, but she smiles as if grateful  _—and she is but—_ "Thank you Master Integra. I will never forget it." This seems to please both her Sires. It's only when she's out the door and in the bathroom that she heaves another sob in shame and disgust.

It takes a couple of days, no more than a week, but Seras hides her mood well; she's been through  _worse,_ she is not a weak thing… It also helped that Walter has seemingly disappeared from the manor altogether. She doesn't question her luck in that sense. It gets easier, she gets more confident as the days pass. She becomes more like herself  _—it never happened, it never happened, it_ _ **never**_ _happened_ — and she can almost pretend that Walter never rejoined the Hellsing Organization, that he died in the rubble along with Millenium's destruction. That he was never rejuvenated and that he wasn't a bloody asshole and that they hadn't tried to  _kill each other which lead to other things and—_

Alucard notices something amiss; she's no longer his fledgling, but she knows he notices. And she also knows he can't help but just  _have_ to inquire about it too. It was the end of the day, and he'd been observing the orientation she'd been delivering to the new recruits; Seras had spoken with confidence and knowledge. Most of the time, the men wouldn't take her serious at first, and those who had the audacity to make fun of her or challenge her would be promptly put in their place without, surprisingly enough and in a very in-character way for her, any need for violence. The thought makes him chuckle, for if he was in the same position… well, things wouldn't run so smoothly. Everyone is dismissed from the briefing room, leaving them both in amicable silence. "Police Girl," though she knows that's  _—somehow, someway; in a very Alucard way,_ that's  _kind of_ a term of endearment. It doesn't, or rather,  _shouldn't_ bother her, but she can't help the slight stiffness in her spine. "You've been quiet, lately; even for you, I must say, that's… a little different. Care to share?"

_Why do you care,_ she wants to say, but bites her tongue; it's a relief that he cannot read her mind anymore, but she can't help but wonder if, someway, she's  _still_ connected to him. After all, she's his…  _offspring,_ in a way.  _Eugh,_ the thought sends a shiver down her body,  _that sounds bloody awful. I already **had** a father. _"I don't know what you mean, Master. I've been the  _opposite_  if you've asked me; Master Integra has me busy with the new recruits.  _Talking,_ or rather,  _commanding_ kind of involves me  _not_ being quiet." Perhaps he picks up on her annoyance, which could explain that sly smile of his, but she isn't exactly eager to find out.

"Indeed. So much you've grown from the fledgling you used to be; it seems like just yesterday, you couldn't even stomach the thought of killing a person, who knew you'd be training Hellsing's very own recruits?" There's a sliminess, just slight,  _not at all like—_ that doesn't sit well with her.

"You  _know_ Master, I wasn't a…  _police girl_ for the outfit; it's not like I did coffee runs or donuts. I've shot people, I've held plenty of guns, and I give grown men a run for their money." There's a little pride in that and a little offense too as she crosses her arms.

Now this is where things become rather strange; Alucard is always smirking or smiling, this much is not out of the ordinary, but something in his eyes flicker. Seras used to believe the sentiment was exaggerated in literature, after all, how could one  _see_ something in someone's eyes? But her vampiric abilities are a miracle; something  _literally_ flickers in there, like a light switch or a curtain. It's bright and almost saturated, and it lasts only a second because Alucard is looking back to the wall beyond her, just adjacent to the hallway. She doesn't know what to make of that, and before she considers even asking, he speaks. "Indeed you do; I bet you must have them quivering beneath you..." Her heart stops all too suddenly, and then it roars in her ear drums.  _Easy, girl, easy; he's talking about the holds. From what you learned in the academy. It's a compliment. **Relax.** There's no way he could…  **does** know... _He isn't looking at her anymore, and he looks almost…  _contemplative._ "You know,  _some_  even might say you're quite… ah, what's the phrasing I'm looking for… perhaps, a little  _rough?_ Violent? Mmm, a little  _angry_?" He drums his gloved fingers against the red fabric of his coat. "You usually like to bite and pin against the walls, don't you, Seras?"

Her world grows very cold, and she's still as stone, but she tries. " _M-Master, w-what are you—_  I… I mean, if I'm…  _kicking_ them or holding by the neck… or—"

" _Oh yes,_ the neck," the bloody bastard looks like he's having the time of his life, but she's too mortified to even defend herself, and she has the urge to cover herself despite being fully clothed, "You really like to target that area don't you?"

"We're  _v-vampires;_ we kind of do the whole neck thing, Alucard," and  _damnit, her voice cracks at his name_ and that just makes his smile grow a little toothier  _and she doesn't need this shit, not right after—_

"You know, I think Walter," her jaw clenches at the mere mention of the name, "mentioned something of that nature… about you, I mean,"  _Wait, w_ _hat_ _the bloody_ _ **hell**_ _?_  "You're quite the beast, Seras; I didn't know you had it in you. To be so  _brash_  and quick to anger; I mean, I  _saw_ it firsthand, but I didn't think—"

" _It was a mistake!"_ she's surprised at her own outburst, and by the quick stillness in Alucard, so is he. "I mean… we didn't—  _I didn't—_ I was  _drinking because of my birthday and—_ _"_ But then he smiles again and it makes her insides  _churn_.

"What ever do you mean, Draculina? I'm just talking about the fight you had in the hallway a couple weeks ago, when he held you up for all the word to see like you were being crucified." He tilts his head  _just a bit more_ for it to be considered  _normal;_ hell, Alucard  _never_ tilts his head to be  _coy._ "Did you have another altercation while our master and I were away?" She's fuming, but not because of Alucard; something cold and fierce runs through her veins, and she is absolutely livid.  _Bullshit,_ she thinks,  _bullshit bullshit bullshit; he's_ _ **spoken**_ _about me… about_ _ **this**_ _… behind my_ _ **back**_ _and—_ It's not like they…  _agreed_ on anything, but her business, her  _consent_ is not anyone's business and— "Walter just arrived from his requested time off today, actually. I believe our Master has..." she doesn't hear the rest of that sentence; her fists clench, and she wants to cry and scream and—  _Who hasn't he told? Did he tell the whole bloody house?! Why,_ she hears herself scream in the depths of her mind,  _Why is he such an insufferable beast!_ Wait.  _Time off?_ As if hearing her unspoken question, "The traitor asked for time away from the manor; something about there being a certain  _hindrance_  that prevents him from…  _perform_ _ing_  well, as it were," he chuckles, shaking his head as if he doesn't get it, and shrugs, "Who knows what's going on in his head; artificial Nazi science must make him absolutely  _insane._ He's no true  _Nosferatu._ It's only a matter of time before he winds up dead or isolated somewhere."  _Hindrance?_ _A f_ _ucking_ _ **hindrance**_ _?_   _That's what he's calling me?_ _He's_ _the hindrance!_ "Master Integra agreed, evidently, so she allowed him to be on his merry way."

_Integra knows; he **told** her. _"What  _else_ has Walter said?" she manages to grind out, despite herself and her waning composure.  _Has she knows this entire time? **Who else** knows? _By all logic, she knows, she should be fuming at Alucard for the way he's being  _entertained_ by all this. But she wants  _blood._

"Why don't you ask him?" He asks, thumb pointing behind him to the doorway.

That's all she needs. She stalks out of the room; she  _almost_ does go out looking for him. Just for one second, she is ready for battle; of course Alucard doesn't stop her, or even call out after her. But then, she is reminded of all the things that have been happening. Her…  _obsession,_ her  _fixation_ , so she stops right out in the hallway, frozen in shock at her own livid reaction.  _You tried to fool yourself into thinking you didn't care. But everyone knows you; even your damn master picked up on it._ Isn't that… isn't that what she's doing right now? Her breath hitches, a hand covering her mouth in disbelief. Why does she care, anyway? Why the hell is she getting so worked up over this? Is she really this predictable? This easily riled?  _What the bloody hell is_ _ **wrong**_ _with me?_ She remains rooted to the spot, and nearly gives herself whiplash by turning back; she's going to her damn room.

_And speak of the Devil_ —

_Of course. Of **fucking** course _she bumps into him. Why does the universe hate her? What did she do? It happens almost painstakingly in slow motion; her vision is superior to that of any human. He'd rounded the corner when she decided to turn around, and so had rammed her face to his chest. She'd stepped away a couple of steps, too shocked to do anything else. She'd expected him to look the same; uncaring, bothered, angry or even cold. She was prepared for any and all of those; what she wasn't prepared for was how much his look mirrored how she felt. Whatever trip he went on didn't work; his hair is pristine and his skin is smooth, that's a given regarding his rejuvenation. But his eyes look glazed over  _—is he under the influence of something, maybe?—_ the skin around his eyes almost withered and even a little gray, darkened as if he hasn't slept or had been cryi— which is ridiculous. His whole visage is  _drained_ , exhausted and at it's limit. Even his clothes are casual;  _too_ casual and almost unkempt for someone like him, whether he'd been on their side or not.  _Sir Integra is letting him present himself like this?_ Had they been on well terms, she would be concerned and just ask. The expression on his face looks  _miserable,_ and that  _can't_ be because of her; she's being pretentious. He doesn't  _care,_ she knows he doesn't  _—right?_ For once since their reunion back in London, when she'd told him to take care of himself, he doesn't look at her like an enemy, he looks at her almost… tenderly, and that just makes her confused. She gulps, despite herself, because she realizes he  _doesn't_ know what to say… and she doesn't know how to deal with that. She'd been prepared for snark, detachment, being ignored even.

Not this. He almost looks like he wants to say something. "...Seras—" he's even avoiding her gaze directly, and is fiddling with his fingers, "… Sir Integra wishes to see you, immediately." It's almost as if the both of them are in a state of disbelief at the words, and so a moment of silence passes. She releases a breath she didn't even know she was holding.

"O—okay…" she breathes out, gulping. Her hands twitch, and she's already walking away.

" _Wait,"_ something not quite relief and not quite dread churns her insides when he speaks. "Seras, wait… just a moment," she  _hates_ how collected and even  _decent_ he sounds and she's so inexplicably envious of his calm composure that she wants to just punch him right then and there. "We need to talk about what happened." Her eyes tighten and this is so  _wrong_ ; he's supposed to be a  _jerk_ and a  _bastard,_ why does he want to  _talk?!_ Fuck kind of— "Victoria," he says, just a  _bit_ quieter, but firmer "… we need to talk about what happened on your birthday… This… This isn't..." if she'd turn around to face him again, she would have noticed his hand just  _slightly_ reaching out to her.

She realizes in a wave of panic, she  _doesn't_ want to hear anything more. She had  _not_ prepared for this scenario.

So Seras takes a step back, as if yanking herself away from him despite not being in his grip and despite her inner turmoil _._ And when she turns to him, she smiles almost earnestly, if only to mask the urge to cry or scream or  _both—_ "What do you mean?  _Nothing_ happened, Walter." That is the first time she's used his name in a  _seemingly_ amiable manner; she notices his suddenly still posture, but she  _doesn't_ want to acknowledge it  _—she tries to ignore how slowly his hand retracts to his side_. "I went out, had a few drinks with my friends, you picked me up, and I went to sleep because I was a tad shit-faced," she shrugs.

And just like  _that_ , like a damn switch, he slowly regresses back to the man she promised herself to hate. Subtle changes  _—stillness of his spine, clenching of his fists, thinning of his lips—_ that indicate a type of understanding, and  _again,_ something that's not quite relief and not quite dread churns within her. With gradual trepidation, she realizes that it's  _comprehension_ dawning on his face. "Vampires don't  _get…_ 'shit-faced'," the words are ground through clenched lips; it's defiance, a challenge,  _Is this how it's going to be, then?_ seeps through his tone.

She crosses her arms tightly  _—and even though she just may or may not know she's made a mistake, she holds her ground;_ she laughs, too cheerful and fake and forced and just a  _bit_ bitter and challenging,  _daring_ him to contradict her. "Ah, well I guess this one does..." she  _almost_ regrets her course of action… until she remembers he's  _blabbed_ about this and if  _that's_ how he's going to treat this, then she'll do whatever the heck she wants. "Especially on her birthday; you can make a young woman a vampire, but you can't quite take the young woman  _out_ of the vampire… or however that saying goes. And besides," she juts her chin out and squares her shoulders just a little bit more, "I tend to do very…  _stupid_ things when I'm drunk. It's best not to look in too deep in things that simply aren't there."

This is her warning to him.

He is not impressed or amused, and he makes sure that she knows it with his gaze, and against her will, she feels so  _small_  but damn it if she'll ever show such weakness again. "Indeed." he echoes. "Well then, I do believe I have some business to attend to; orders from Sir Integra." He almost sounds polite, and she feels  _just_ a bit more at ease. Then, almost fast enough to give her whiplash, he's turned away and she  _hates_ how  _familiar_ his broad back looks to her as he walks away,  _calm and poised and fucking bloody elegant,_ "Hm, you know I've realized that I forgot to tell you something the night of your birthday. Though perhaps you didn't hear me properly when you were…  _stumbling_ in your intoxicated haze."

Her eyebrow twitches, "Oh? What was that now?" she seethes despite wanting to sound courteous and polite.

When he turns back to her, familiar sleazy smirk and eyes crawling with a pretentiousness she can't quite place, she almost punches just out of pure instinct from danger. " _Happy Birthday_. I do hope you enjoyed the gift I left you in your room. Hopefully your back didn't ache from when you… fell against the floor."

She sees  _red_ and the shadows of her arm are striking in the air; Walter readies his wires, hands flashing a familiar blue. But before any of these forces meet, Alucard stand in between them.

His smile is a little too knowing, and it leaves the both of them with unease, huffing and puffing with a fight that leaves static in the air.

"Police Girl, you're  _late_ to beck Sir Integra's call. Shall we?" Seras rips herself away from Walter's gaze in a huff. Alucard looks to the former Hellsing butler curiously. "My, my, who  _knew_ that the  _Angel of Death_ had such trouble with the ladies. Can't handle a little girl?"

Walter is so  _close_ to cut off the vampire's head off just to be spiteful. He narrows his eyes before walking away.

_Alright, if **that's** how it's going to be Seras Victoria; I'll be more than happy to oblige._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter I+II would have been one chapter; in retrospect, it contains less sexual tension that I personally would have liked, so I hope to make that up by next chapter.

**snafu  
** **(III)  
** _present_

**IT DOESN'T TAKE** long for her to feel guilt because of her actions; the more she truly thought about it, the more she realized that  _maybe_ he'd been trying to  _fix_ things. Maybe. She doesn't know; it's confusing. He'd been such an uppity jerk when he'd been reintroduced in the organization, then  _that_ happened… and he'd wanted to, at least it looked like it, make things better. And it'd been during the night in her coffin after her talk with Integra that she realized that  _maybe_ she didn't take the best course of action. She'd tried to remember when he  _betrayed_ them, glared at her,  _choked_ her, and yet, that nagging pull in her mind wouldn't let go of the fact that he wanted to  _try._ She doesn't get any sleep and is restless. Heck, she's not even mad about him telling Integra anymore; he's the Hellsing's  _prisoner,_ of course anything that involves him is to be reported,  _especially_ if it concerns her. Too much, she feel absolutely too much and she's mad, upset, confused and— Seras gulps,  _I was wrong. I was wrong and I should have listened to what he wanted to say._ Isn't that what she'd wanted in the beginning? When everyone else was ostracizing him, she'd wanted to offer him a hand.

Almost a week passes since their  _talk_ and she actively avoids him and, as a result, she's hyperaware of him; his scent, his presence, his mannerisms, the sound of his steps,  _everything_ and she wonders when ignoring him out of spite was a much easier task. He hardly looks at her, but she gets the distinct feeling that he's also aware of her; it makes her feel stupid and a coward, but she tries to push forward. She focuses on her personal growth, mission and power wise, as a form of distraction. It's easier to think that he's simply not in the manor;  _back to square one._ She tries to work the nerve to talk to him, but she's too  _—embarrassed, ashamed, overwhelmed, stubborn—_ tired most of the time to approach him.

Seras sits in her bedroom, within the chairs at the edge near the washroom, rifle nestled well between her legs. Her day is mostly over; the training was going well, and she was rather enjoying her growing capabilities as a leader; her ultimate goal as a cadet when she was on the force was to eventually be chief, so this served as a nice alternative. Her calloused finger-pads idly touch the edge of the rifle, as if contemplating whether she should go bring it in for maintenance in the next hour or tomorrow,  _or hey sometime next week._ She may or may not have overused her  _Harkonnen_  and missed  _a few_ maintenance sessions. It takes about another hour for her to keep thinking on it, plus a blood bag or two just to quell her hunger pangs. Mind mostly in order, she doesn't waste any more time, and makes her way to the weapon's lab, hand  _almost_ trembling on the door handle, other arm and hand occupied with her rifle. Her sharp hearing, however, picks up another voice; two of them total speaking almost civilly.  _Alucard…? When did they—?_

The voices stop and she freezes. Of course they can sense her. How stupid she is to think she  _could_ have eavesdropped? A nasty thought occurs to her then,  _What if he's recounting to Alucard? What if they're both making fun of me?_ in a flight or fight moment of hesitation, she bolts. She's all too aware she's acting like an immature and scared child; she knows this, she knows it and yet she can't help it. It's too much. The nerves are too much.

This is how it continues; she can't even bring herself to face him, and she knows she's probably making it obvious, not even unintentionally. Neither Alucard or Walter make mention of this incident to her; at least, not to her face; whether they speak behind closed doors or not is irrelevant to her, but it's maddening all the same.

Her mood becomes just a little more down, her semblance just a little more reserved, despite her efforts. Though, soon another mistake almost happens  _again,_ but it isn't actually initiated by her. It's by Sir Integra; a simple mission to clean up whatever was remaining of the Nazi ghouls a couple of towns over. She isn't even surprised at that point that so many remained, nor does she question when exactly the ghouls became so keen on travel. She'd thought she was going with Alucard, only to find out the day of that she isn't… she's going with Walter. Seras protests and she protests hard; Walter merely keeps a clenched jaw when she leaves and kicks Sir Integra's doors open. She's too wrapped in anger and lack of respect that she doesn't process exactly what she's done or has said because at the end of it, she's left huffing and puffing. Alucard looks highly amused, if not a little disappointed and Integra, though not too expressive, is annoyed. Like they are both in on something and that just gets her more angry.

At the end of it, Sir Integra calmly explains to her that this wasn't an award for good behavior for Walter, or some twisted hope. They're testing out his usefulness and debating whether to use him for active combat; the chip he was implanted with came with a remote, and she could end his life with the press of a button. Without any more words, and in hindsight thankfully without Sir Integra's wrath, Alucard merely picks her up by the collar and throws her out the window, literally. She lands seated almost perfectly perched up the hood of the car, embarrassed, angry and livid, still huffing and puffing, too caught up with her own whirlwind of emotions that she fails to realize the weight of all of it until hours later. Walter had been leaning against the side, taking a drag of a cigar, looking almost calm, except for the very same vividness in his eyes too. It looks like he wanted to draw blood, and maim, and she realizes that the more part of his anger is because of the bloody chip, just as she thought, no doubt undignified at having his life out of his own control.

_Serves him right,_ she thinks, despite the guilt running through her.

He drives, and the long, two-hour car ride was awkward and unfathomable. They don't even stop for a break. She'd almost put some music along the way once or twice, but he glares at her when she so much moved her hand. He's especially cold to her tonight, and though she doesn't say anything, she  _unders_ _tands_ _._ She clenches her fist, letting the ire pump through her veins before turning away. They don't exchange any words or glances outside of that. After that, the whole thing starts to blur together. It's a simple hit and run; eliminate ghouls. Out the edge of the town, they end up in near forest territory; thankfully dark to suit their needs and away from any civilization. The mission starts as soon as the car hit one of the ghouls, and soon, they're both out of the vehicle; there hordes of the bastards, and it's easy, just mindless killing. Seras keeps her eye on Walter though, if he tries to do anything funny. The actual 'battle' is over in almost an instant, that she almost wants to cry for spending two hours worth of gas for a five minute fight. It's a waste of time and perhaps she felt it so strongly because she is out with him. Wordlessly, they get back into the car; they smell of blood and utter sweat and grime and  _Christ_  how she wants a shower. But not having had the energy to be any more upset, she'd leans her head back and is about to just sleep the entire ride home.

Except. Well.

A familiar and awful sound ring in their ears; the key to the ignition, Walter turns it. The engine roars with life for a second, but it dies. He blinks, and so does she, and watches him try again. And again. And again. Nothing.  _Fuck._  After a very angry Walter fiddling with the car and a phone call or two  _—the bloody battery is dead and we are stranded—_  Seras also calls Sir Integra, and although she conceded to this annoying mishap, she merely tells them to just walk back. Besides, it even works out better since they have to get rid of all the ghouls in the area regardless. The car is expendable; they aren't. It isn't like they need to sleep or eat anyway. Seras kicks the car out of spite, and Walter is already a good distance away that she trots to catch up. From then, it's a silence that is abundantly much worse than in the car. She regrets ever complaining and has a hunch that maybe, somehow, Sir Integra has something to do with this. She'd keeps her distance and her thoughts to herself.

"This is just bloody  _perfect,"_ young or old, she hasn't heard Walter lose his temper so vocally, even if it was just a murmur. She figures this is her cue to say something as a response. What she can say though remains a mystery to her, so she remains quiet. However, this seems to grate on his nerves, and she can see the clenching of his knuckles even with the leather gloves. "Being  _stranded_ and with a child, no less." Now she knows he's being purposefully rude and grating.

But of course, she can't resist the bait.

"This  _child_ had you pinned under that night  _and_ had you limping at the end of it. So why don't you bloody  _shut your fucking mouth_ and stop complaining."

She can practically  _hear_ the clench of his jaw at that. "I thought you said nothing happened."

"Cut the crap; it's not like you didn't already tell the whole bloody house."

He has the audacity to look lost. "Is  _that_ what's bothering you? Is  _that_ why you haven't—" He's ticked off, she knows it fully when he grabs her wrist.  _What is with the constant wrist grabbing?!_ "Don't accuse of something I didn't even do, Seras, and if I remember correctly,  _I_ wasn't the one crying out."

Her face goes red, and she yanks her wrist painfully. "I— I—  _oh, shut up!" —'Good comeback'_ he says— "Don't give me that; Alucard knows, he  _told_ me you told him, and it doesn't take a genius to see that Integra isn't ignorant. I hope you bloody enjoyed making a damn fool out of me. What? Wasn't that one night enough?!"

"It's  _Alucard,_ you really think he'd remain ignorant?" She scoffs, and he shakes his head, "How do I know  _you_ didn't tell him anything? Perhaps you're  _into_ that sort of thing." She almost slaps him for that one, but her anger is a fickle yet powerful thing. So she kicks him in the shin instead.

"Did… Did you  _seriously just kick me—"_

"Yes I did! Fuck you!"

"In case you didn't  _remember_ or were too damn 'drunk' to do so,  _we did that already!"_ She keeps walking ahead, wanting to get away from this stupid conversation. "Don't bloody walk away from me!" She flips him the finger behind her without looking back. She knows she's not being mature; she doesn't care. " _Seras,"_ he calls out and it causes her to clench her jaw, but she walks faster. She wants to say she's surprised she ends up being pinned by the neck against a tree trunk.

But she isn't.

They huff and puff, and her stomach does a very familiar drop; she repeats to herself that it's fear or apprehension. She ignores the other possibility. "Walter,  _stop._ I don't want to do this  _again._ " She hisses. " _We_ aren't doing  _this_ again. Get  _off._ "

" _Why_ are you  _being_ like this? Why can't we just  _talk_?"  _Like we used to._  "What did I  _do_?

She isn't even aware she's crying until the blood tears are dripping off her cheeks. "Are you seriously asking me that?" she croaks out, though her expression is livid, her eyes are melancholic. She is not referring to that night.

_Millenium._

He grows quiet, thoughtful and regretful, and though his grip is firm, it is not tight or forceful. Instead of answering that, he responds with something else, "We did something we weren't supposed to do; that's  _okay,_ things… things got out of control,  _it happens."_

"I don't bloody know what kind of people you hang out with, but I  _certainly_ do  _not_ go… go…  _fucking_ someone I'm livid at!"

"That's comforting."

She is not impressed nor amused. "Get  _off._ I said  _no._ " She tries  _desperately_ to ignore how she  _may_ or  _may_ not like his large hand on her neck like that.  _Goddamn, what is_ _ **wrong**_ _with me?!_

"I'm not  _trying_ to do anything!" He hisses out, as if offended at the insinuation, none the wiser to her inner conflict.  _I bet he wouldn't have said no if I was on board._ "I'm trying to have a conversation, Victoria."

"Holding me by the neck against a tree does  _not_ a conversation make!"

"If you would  _cooperate_  instead of—"

"Ooh, tread lightly there former Hellsing butler; that sounds  _a lot_ like rape you're threatening me with. If I remember, actually, I believe this is how you initiated it last time." She is not so much of a bastard to truly accuse him of being such a vile creature, but him being taken aback at her bold claim makes her feel just a little bit powerful.

But then he narrows his eyes. "And if  _I_ remember correctly,  _you_  had me pinned under with both of your hands around my neck  _and_ bit a chunk of my shoulder off." Her eye twitches, and if she pretended not to know any better, she would say this was… exciting him. Both of them. Maybe.  _This is bad and inappropriate and bad and_ _ **bloody hell what is this—**_

"You… you  _glared_ at me!"

" _You_ avoided me!"

"Then got  _physical_ when I was looking through a few photographs!"

"You attacked me with that shadow of yours!"

" _You **choked** me with your wires! _You wouldn't have stopped had it been for Alucard!"

"You expected someone that never existed to begin with!"

" _Yes I did!"_ she sobs out, and it makes him grow quiet. " _I just wanted **my** Walter back! _The  _old_ Walter! But I realized too late that  _he was never real!_ " Her mood deflates, and she doesn't feel any better. She's so  _tired_ ; they're not going anywhere with this. She doesn't want to see his reaction or decipher his opinion of her stupidity or her hurt. "Walter," she says softly, pleading almost. "Please let me go. I don't want to… I want to get this mission over with, and I'm… not comfortable." She doesn't want to see the pleading in his own eyes that she knows is there.

Slowly and almost gently, he lets her go without another word, despite wanting to say so much. They continue on with the mission as if nothing had happened.

They do not speak for the next couple of weeks.

**( &. )**

She has an intense desire to get out of the manor; she considers sneaking out, but she knows better. Her missing presence would not be unnoticed; even if she isn't under Alucard's wing, she still works for Hellsing. So the next chance she gets, she speaks to Sir Integra privately; it's tricky to navigate through the woman's harsh exterior, but she's her only gateway. It's easier than she initially thought, but they come to an agreement; she is still bound to report to Hellsing daily and often, the only difference is that she would be able to actually leave more. It's not like she was moving out, she just has more freedom. She works directly with Hellsing's first line of defense as opposed to training the rookies; she's part of the team. Though she would check in to the house for rest and food.

"Seras, I do hope this isn't a way for you to try and regress to your previous lifestyle; you're still very much a vampire, remember that. You aren't human, don't try to pretend you are." The words sting, mostly because she  _kind of_ was trying to aim for that, if only to forget all of this, but also because she seems to be so weak even under her Master's eyes. "Am I clear? Don't get carried away; you still very much work for Hellsing."

"Yes, Sir Integra; I assure you that's not even close to my objective."

"What is it then?"

_Shit, wrong thing to say._ "Ah, I just… it gets a tad boring being stuck here all the time."

"You're in charge of training the new recruits, and you go to the training ground plenty."

"With all due respect, Sir Integra, that's hardly getting out of the manor."

"That's fair enough. Though, I also do hope this isn't to evade any possible issue you're dealing with?"

Her fingers twitch and she prays that her Master hadn't seen that. "No Sir. Not in the slightest; I just… need fresh air, new experiences."

"Hm… a vampire needing fresh air," Integra snubs her cigar, amused and not quite believing the words. "You understand my doubts."

"Yes Sir; but I swear by my parent's graves," a precious thing for her, "It's not like that at all." She hates herself in that moment, and she wonders if her parents would be disappointed in her in that moment.

Because it's a blatant lie.

As predicted, she sees even less of him, and for that she is relieved. Still guilty, still wondering if she should just apologize, but she doesn't do anything in that respect. The freedom to roam in the night is liberating,  _freeing_ ; she's not chained to the house so literally, and she can actually  _walk_ the streets at night. She's even gone to her old apartment a couple of times, looking through her old belongings and photographs and feeling like she's  _home._

On a particular night three weeks later, she gets clearance of the mission status; relieved of her duties for the evening, she goes back to apartment. She even stocked a few blood bags in the freezer for her convenience; she's given up one home for the other, and she likes that she can roam her own apartment in her casual wear or watch the telly or even listen to music like a  _normal_ young woman her age. Integra wouldn't be happy that she'd been spending her time resting on a bed rather than her coffin, but as long as she kept her strength up, she was in charge of being ten times more successful than average. She's already reported to Hellsing for the evening, and miraculously, Sir Integra let her spend her time as she wished for the day, or night, for today. In place of tea, she would heat her blood bag in a pot of bot of boiling hot water, let it sit and pour herself a cup; it was as close to tea as she could get. A rather stupid thing that no doubt they would laugh at her for, but she likes she can do it in the privacy of her isolation. She's content in, for once in a long time, baggy sweatpants and hoodie, all the while listening to the rain. She'd have to report back to her superior next morning, and to receive a new mission briefifg a few hours after, and then after that, report once more to Sir Integra. For now, she has a small break and she feels relaxed if, of course, she ignores the nagging in her chest.

She still hasn't apologized, and her  _Harkonnen_ still needs maintenance.  _Tomorrow,_ she thinks like she's been doing for the last two weeks,  _I'll ask him tomorrow,_ knowing full well she won't. Their last conversation hadn't been so much as a talk as it was ranting and stubbornness. She hears a knock on her door. She wants to say she's surprised but she isn't, she's more bewildered that he would bother in the middle of a rainstorm.

He looks expectantly at her, if a little nervous.

"Can… can we please talk?"


	4. Chapter 4

**snafu  
** **(IV)**  
_final_

 **JUST BECAUSE SHE** expects it, doesn't mean it still leaves her feeling lost. If she had a chance to truly appreciate the moment, she would have marveled at how… almost… normal and adorably awkward he looks. Indeed, those are words she would have never thought to use on this person; not as he was and most certainly not as she was beginning to know him again. But she can't help it; his eyes are wide, his mouth almost  _trembling_ at holding his tongue. It is not an expression unlike he'd given her in front of the  _Deux Ex Machina;_ it is not one she is not unfamiliar with. For that, she is at a loss. Seras gulps, but steps to the side just to make room for his entrance; she half expects him to have some flowers, or something.  _What is this madness; how did we even come here?_ He steps inside and she closes the door behind him; she tells him to just… make himself at home, but it's not long after they sit in a heavy silence. She'd offer him tea or coffee, but well… She sits a good distance away, making sure to try and keep her wracking nerves under control the best she can.

"...Thank you. For letting me in, I mean." Not being able to find it within herself to speak, she shrugs, avoiding eye contact. A shuffle of her couch informs her that he's moved slightly forward; she can feel it, his gaze on her and she wants nothing more than to jump out the window. She hears him sigh, and her fists only clench. "Seras, we need to talk about this," it almost sounds like he's trying to talk  _himself_ into this; she thinks twice on calling such a thing out in the open, not one for being unkind when it is undeserved. He sighs again, a little more frustrated, a little more defeated, and just a little lost, like her. The oncoming silence is filled with the clearing of her throat. "...all of it.  _Please…_  this has to stop." He sits almost hunched over, elbows on his knees and fists clasped in front of his mouth.

It takes a second for her to realize that she's biting the inside of her cheek; she's acting like a child, but how can she do better if that's really all she knows how to do? Her eyes slowly rove to him, her breath hitching as she sees just how worn out he really looks. Not even when he was an old man, did he ever look so  _tired._ It makes her feel guilty and so she clears her throat again once more. "… I know," her words capture his attention, make him come to; they are both so unsure, so paranoid and utterly clueless, aren't they? "I know, and I… I appreciate you making the effort. It's… very kind of you."  _It almost reminds me of what you used to be;_ ** _who_** _you used to be. Back when I knew where your values were placed._ She has to remind herself, though, that she never  _really_ knew him, not truly. "Thank you, Walter." His gaze is carefully schooled, but the eyes always give it away. Nodding slowly, she sees the bob in his adam's apple; he almost looks pained. "You're absolutely right. I don't… I don't think I can really… deal with the situation much longer. I'm  _tired_ and  _lost,_  and I don't know what to do."

"I don't think I do either." His confession doesn't assure her or make her comfortable in the slightest; if anything, it makes her feel even more distressed. But she's genuinely touched by the honesty; it's respectable, and worth her attention; this is a vast improvement to the man who had been glaring at everything and everyone in his path, she almost doesn't believe it's the same person. He rubs his mouth, his chin, almost as if an afterthought. "To be honest, I wasn't even going to try anymore after… our last 'conversation', if it can be called such a thing."

Well, at least they agree on something. "What changed your mind?" Somehow, she doesn't exactly want to hear the answer.

"I just… couldn't let the situation pass. Not like this; it's driving me mad."

"You and me both."

"Indeed."

"Very," they're stalling. She takes a deep breath and lies her head back. "But I guess we need to start somewhere, so I'll bite," she can tell they both tense; she feels all over the air, their scents, but this needs to be put out in the open already. "What we did… that night," her throat begins to clamp up, and her eyes begin to prickle in embarrassment, humiliation and perturbation.  _Don't you dare cry; don't you_ ** _dare_** _cry. Own up to what you did, damnit; do_ ** _not_** _cry in front of him._ "It was… I mean, it was just—"  _A mistake,_ she wants to say, but other things flash in her mind; dangerous things, horrid things, hopeful things and foolish things to describe  _exactly_ what that experience was and now she can't trust herself to speak further. Thankfully, though, she doesn't need to.

"It never should have happened," he concedes. A twisted part of her feels oddly disappointed and hollow; she doesn't want to know why. "But—" Her ears immediately perk, and her heart drops to her stomach.  _But?!_ His hand runs through his head sleeking the hair that is already mysteriously smooth despite the rain outside. "I'm also… not  _regretful._ I am regretful at… how it happened."

 _H_ _ow_ _it happened?_ She almost chokes in her own saliva when she tries to have words come out. "Wh— What… are you— Walter, what do you—"

"I'm  _saying_ that..." he does that thing, where he rubs his finger pads together, thinking, He sounds exasperated, and normally she would shrink at such a tone; but she's too— "Under different circumstances, everything could have been… different."

She gulps, because this is probably as close to a confession she'll get.  _This is like… when a boy asks you out to a date; except this isn't a_ ** _boy,_** _this isn't_ ** _upper school,_** _and we went to_ ** _no_** _bloody school dance._ "Y- _yes_ , well—" he's avoiding her gaze, and for that she is utterly  _grateful_ because  _it's getting really hard to breathe in here—_ her voice is too high-pitched, and she shakily downs some of the hot blood she had in the mug beside her, "Well…  _unfortunately_ ," her skin prickles with goosebumps at her own implication, "They… aren't…  _weren't._  Circumstances, I mean," that doesn't make a lick of sense; she clears her throat again, "I… I don't know what I'm trying to say."

"I'm afraid I'm not sure what I'm trying to say either."

Something shifts, and she almost dreads what she's about to say, "...What  _happened_ to you, Walter?" He looks at her, unsure and with narrowed eyes. She wants to cry, and she doesn't even know the reason, all of a sudden. "I mean… In the beginning, after Millenium and—"

He breathes out a soft, but firm, "Seras," a warning and a plea, his jaw clenches and he shakes his head, as if tired of this conversation and it almost makes her pedal back, but she needs to know; this is what they wanted, isn't it? Open communication and honest?  _—She's going to pretend that's_ ** _definitely_** _not a couple's thing and she's going to ignore all signs otherwise—_

"No, I  _mean_ it," her own jaw sets, and her fists tighten. Despite her own momentary cowardice, she looks  _hard_ at him, "Did  _you_  mean it? Did you truly mean to do any of it?"  _Lie to me, at least._ _Please tell me you were brainwashed; please tell me they tortured you and were forced into all of it;_ ** _please_** _tell me—_

His gaze doesn't waver from hers, and she already knows the answer before the words even come out of his mouth, "With every fiber of my being," he says,  _daring_ her to challenge it, "And I would do it again just to have the chance."

Her eyes water  _—no, they_ ** _bleed_** _,_ and she bites her lip for it to stop quivering. She's mad, but she knows that's not… exactly  _fair_ ; it's not like he's lying, and so sadness and disappointment is all that's left. She sniffs and looks away, annoyed  _—at what, exactly, she isn't sure,_ "Of course you would. Of course you damn well would; stupid of me to think otherwise." Knuckles wipe at her eyes, and she moves as if the couch is suffocating her; she doesn't want to talk anymore. She knows it's  _stupid_  because she can't just walk away when things don't go her way.  _Well, I can if it's my bloody apartment_. Of course, he goes for the wrist but she pulls away before the skin can brush, " _Don't,"_ she says, but he's already ahead of her.

Yet, she finds the more he speaks, the more she wants him out. "Seras, that's  _enough_ —"

"I don't want to talk to you anymore," a small part of her  _knows_ that this seems so  _stupid_ ; any outsider would think they're  _together_ and that he  _cheated_ on her. Why is she acting like it? His plan for revenge, his self imposed rivalry with Alucard, as stupid as it was, didn't have anything to do with her. It  _never_ did; he's been at this for  _sixty years._ Why does she care? Why does it affect her so much? Hell, they hadn't even known each other for long; if anything, Integra should be in this position. Not Seras Victoria, not the ditzy Police Girl who didn't even  _like_ being a vampire in the beginning. "I think I've heard enough."

He rises from his position, and this has potential to turn ugly very quickly  _—to become that night all over again_ — Old Walter was a striking person, and though he was aged, he always stood proud and wise, but tame, somehow,  _s_ _oft;_ not quite as menacing as her former sire. Young Walter, however, is a  _very_ different story; his posture, his shoulders and stance are all  _taller_ somehow, broad, and imposing. She's not entirely sure how height and age correlate, and it could be mind tricks, but he's  _taller_ somehow… or perhaps he was always this tall, but he just never bothered to make it clear before. Who knows, but it's enough for her to notice, more so when he's  _looking_ at her like that. "You can't be doing this. You can't just  _walk away_ when things don't go your way, Seras."

"You obviously did," she knows it's a low blow, but she wants to be petty in that moment; his clenched jaw is a motivator, "No… no you didn't. You did the opposite, didn't you? You  _stuck around_ and waited instead, and when things  _didn't_ go your way, you intended to just  _waste away,_ like a  _loser_  and—"

Whatever she's about to say is swallowed in a choke; she is forced to stretch, hauled to nearly her toes as Walter hauls her wrist, the shadow one, high and finds herself near nose to nose to him. "That's  _enough_ , Seras;  _nonsensical_ dribble is pouring out of your mouth." His hardened eyes soften when tears pool down her cheeks.

"N-nonsensical…?" she mutters under her breath. She attempts to yank herself away, arm and back now uncomfortable from the forced posture, but she's forgotten she's not dealing with a human anymore. Though he is not genuine Nosferatu, he is still a vampire nonetheless and has a strength that rivals her own. "Let me  _go,_ I  _swear_ to bloody  _hell_  I will—  _I'll_ —" she wants to say she'll push him off, but damn it then what? They fight? Tear her apartment and then go back to sulking respectively for the next few weeks? Rinse and repeat? Her free hand palms her forehead, fingers clutching her bangs in desperation. She's never been in this situation, she doesn't know how to effectively  _deal_ with any of this. "Just let it  _go_  already," she doesn't know who she directs that to; Walter or herself. Both.

"And then  _what?_ " she's surprised to hear him as desperate and agitated as she feels, but she still doesn't face him, "If I let you go, then  _what_ happens?"

"Who bloody  _cares?_ We don't even—  _I_ don't— we're not even  _involved_ in any—" she doesn't  _know;_ she doesn't want to  _think._ "I don't  _know_. Why is this a big issue a-anyway?" her voice cracks, and these are the questions that have been plaguing her this whole time, "This whole thing is just  _stupid;_ you're the bloody  _fucking_ butler who h-handled my blood-bags, my coffin. Th-this shouldn't even be  _allowed,_ this is so fucking stupid and  _wrong and I just—"_ she breathes out a dry laugh, not even trusting herself to say words properly; too many thoughts passing by. She half-expects something cliché, like a kiss, and maybe she's hopeful for thinking such a thing. Isn't that what they do in the bloody love movies? He lets her go, gently and wordlessly, and she  _hates_ herself for having to wipe her tears away. For her own voice cracking like that; she used to be such a crier and had worked  _so hard_ to break the habit. For it to resurface like this,  _for something like this,_ is inexcusable. She thinks she has a moment to breathe, but quickly finds herself near suffocating against his chest, arms cradling her, a hand weaving through her hair, his chin on top of her head.

"I'm sorry," he says, as if that's enough to fix all of it, "I'm sorry I've only hurt you…  _all of you,_ but…  _especially_ you," she asks herself why that would be the case; she doesn't matter, she doesn't even properly  _belong_ or have anything to do with Hellsing. "...Because you had…  _nothing_ to do with it. Any of it, not really."

"Integra..." she says, muffled. She can feel the shaking exhale from his chest, as if he's merely struggling to breathe.

"I… I  _used_ her and in a way, she was the catalyst to all this. I hurt her too." She was like a daughter to him, he doesn't say it, but she can  _hear_ it in the struggle of his speech. She can  _feel_ it in his shaking arms. He raised her to be the woman she was today.

She doesn't want his apology, and she shakes her head, wanting to put physical distance from this embrace, and begins pulling away. Walter doesn't let her, and only squeezes her tighter. "What good is an apology…. you're not even  _sorry_ ; you would do it again and  _again_ even though you  _know_ you would lose. Alucard  _cared,_ I know he did and—"

As consequence for her even mentioning the Count, his fingernails dig just a bit to her skull; not enough to cause damage or even pain, just discomfort. "In the nicest and most respectable manner, Seras, I'm going to say that you don't know what you're talking about," and he does, his voice  _is_ kind, but the words still sting. "He was right;  _you're_ right… in the end, it's all just… a childish feud on my end," he struggles and she realizes his pride is wounded from even admitting his fault, for saying his hated rival, his  _sworn_ enemy, is  _right._ "I was… never good at letting things go."

She suspects that has a double meaning. "Then why… why would you—" her hands clutch his shirt, the fabric distorting under such fierce pressure. Her tears are no doubt staining the white, too; " _Goddamnit,_ why can't you just at least  _pretend_ that you—  _lie_ to me, just  _tell_ me that you  _wouldn't_ and I—"

"Because… I'm  _tired_  of lying. I've been doing it for  _sixty_ years and I'm an old man and I just…  _can't_ do it anymore."

The truth being so spoken in such a manner is almost enough to break her, "You," she breathes out, broken and cracked, "...Old Walter… never existed, did he?"

His chest shivers, it  _wracks_ just a bit; as if he's fighting… a sob. "Not… not the version you've come to know."

"Was it always an act?"

His answer surprises her. "No, it wasn't; you…  _both_ of you… even—" he cuts himself off, and she strains to hear, "...meant so much to me."

"Not… nearly enough."

He doesn't say anything, and that  _breaks_ her for a moment before he speaks again. " _More_ than enough;  _too much._ So much that I  _couldn't…_ bear the thought of staying alive to see…  _this._ " And suddenly, she understands why he planned to die even if he won. He didn't want to deal with the overbearing weight of his guilt, of betraying the trust of those whom he cared for.

"What do you expect me to do. What do you  _want_ me to do with this…?"  _What do you want from_ ** _me_**  is what she really wants to ask. "Do you… really expect me to just… forgive you? Especially knowing that you wouldn't… hesitate to do it again?" She is still in his embrace, and suddenly the weight,  _his presence,_ that she wanted to so desperately get away from, is something she is  _craving._ She doesn't want to separate, but she doesn't want to see his face, it would make this  _so real and confusing._ She can't forgive him, not when he's willing to do it again…

He stills, and something changes. "I said… that I would  _repeat_ it, the same circumstances; not that I would… do it more." Her breath hitches, because she takes a moment to digest the meaning behind those words. She finds herself feeling something in her chest…  _hope._ And hope is such a dangerous and fickle thread, especially for  _people_ like them, for  _Hellsing._ She wants to ask for clarification, but she doesn't want to… jinx anything, as juvenile as that sounds. Against her own will, her shoulders sag in something akin to relief. She doesn't let herself sob, but the blood tears run on their own, scorching against her face and his shirt.

"Walter C. Dornez you are just so damn…  _stupid."_

"I don't disagree." He shudders a harsh chuckle, one that she can tell  _hurts_ and if his loosened grip is any indication, she'd even say one that is also exuding  _relief. "_ And you, Seras Victoria give too many tears to those who don't deserve it."

" _Obviously."_  The embrace feels more natural, more lax and comfortable.  _This…_ _is okay,_ she thinks for once in a very long time,  _It's a start._ An intruding thought slices through, despite her tears and despite the slight clutch at her chest. "How's your… shoulder?" She feels him tense; she knows she's opened a bag of well… something. He hadn't expected her to bring  _that_ up again. It hangs over her head, and because of the wave of calmness, of forgiveness even, and perhaps just simply out of that same emotional quilt, she decides that  _just maybe_ , she can afford to make another 'mistake'. Or two. Or twenty. She  _hears_ his gulp, and goosebumps rise over her arms; her fingers rake over his back, agonizingly slow. They're both thinking the same thing, she knows this.

But this time, she doesn't mind being the catalyst.

"Seras, wait… we don't—" this time, she doesn't let  _him_ finish, and she pushes her hands against his chest; her unexpected movement combined with her strength catch him off guard, and so he falls almost too easily against the couch. She makes it a point to perch herself firmly, straddling him; this is new territory, but she isn't  _scared._

"I don't believe I asked for an opinion."

His eyebrows raise as he fights a smile. "I'm sorry,  _who's_ threatening who with rape again?"

Her curious and eager hands are already working on the buttons, too nervous to look at him in the eyes, but unable to fight her own smile as she bites her lips. He notices this, course, and his hands gently stop hers from any more movement; his face is suddenly too close to hers and soon enough, his lips are on hers. It's a chaste kiss, but it lingers, and even when he parts, his face remains close to hers, forehead to forehead, making sure she's looking at him. "This is a bad idea," she whispers, unable to stop blushing or fight her shy smile.

"You were the one who straddled me. I did nothing."

"You say that as if you didn't enjoy it and don't tell me you  _didn't_ either because I can  _feel_ otherwise," she makes a sharp movement, smile turning into a sly grin as he hisses under his breath. Her grin dies when he squeezes her arse, "H- _hey!_ That was  _unwarranted_ ,"

"Are you alright with this…? Isn't this… weird for you?"

"No, it's not alright with me," she rolls her eyes, tone deadpan. He squeezes harder for her sarcasm. "A little, but I think we past that point last time, don't you think? Besides, you said you… wished the circumstances were different. Now they are." He nods, and she pulls him closer, just a bit, relieved to be on the same page. "Speaking of last time, don't think I intend to go  _easy_ ; you left me bleeding."

He looks regretful for a moment, but to her relief, he gets a deviant glint in his eye, and brings his lips to her neck, "And don't think I forgot the  _choking_." Her hoodie is unzipped not long after; his dress shirt is unbuttoned. "Or the skin you literally bit off; I was limping by the end of it."

"Well get used to the idea, because it's not going to be any different." Hands rove over bare, milky hips. Hair is unmade and brushed through. Breaths begin to mingle and lips are beginning to swell.

"Seras Victoria, is that a  _challenge_ _?"_  He asks, licking his lips.

She laughs, a real genuine laugh. "Don't be silly,  _Angel of Death;_ that's a  _guarantee_ _._ Why, you'll feel your  _actual_ age again; it'll be like you never got rejuvenation surgery!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, I actually was going to have Walter just kiss her in that particular moment and have them do the naughty; but the thought was just too cliché to make it out of my head, and I wanted a real conversation, damnit. Also, I'm not crying, you're crying. Bitch.


End file.
